Silver Daggers
by violets92
Summary: It’s the first time since he was thirteen that he’s felt this way. Like he wants to rid himself from this earth. Oneshot. Inside Remus's head. Set 1981 and PostOOTP.


Hey all. This is just a oneshot I found on my computer, and after much re-styling and editing to make it better than it was, I'm deciding to post it. The first part is set just after October 31st 1981 and the second part is set at the end of the Order of the Pheonix.

Enjoy.

* * *

He can't breathe.

He can't move.

His mind can't make sense of anything.

The cold bites at his lungs and the darkness continues to blacken around him. It's painful. Freezing. Silent. He doesn't move an inch. The wind has stopped. The trees cease their rustling. The earth stops spinning, yet the memories keep coming. He clenches his fist in his hair. He's going mad. His mind won't stop.

_Don't think. Don't breathe. _

They're all gone. Everyone. All four – no, five, six - of them ripped apart. His heart beats erratically and he wishes it wouldn't beat at all. Flashes of laughter and pranks, families, shoot through his mind like meteors across a black sky, every one of them ripping his soul into smaller pieces.

He is ruined.

The sting of betrayal cuts through him like the sharpest knife and it hurts more than even his most painful transformation. He wants to transform now. He doesn't want to be here, in his own mind. He may as well be dead. It's the first time since he was thirteen that he's felt this way. Like he wants to rid himself from this earth. Like he wants to take that old silver knife and let it silence him forever. He aches for the moment back when he was ten. The moment he held his father's silver dagger in his own hands. If he had a time turner now, he'd go back and kill himself just to avoid this moment.

The anguish makes him shudder. A current flows down his spine. It's pure hell. Torture. Worse than a thousand dementors.

Dementors. Azkaban. Siri-

_Don't think. _

He can't look up. The stars, too, have betrayed him. The brightest star by far the darkest. He can't even think the name. He _won't_. Still, the anger rips through him. Tearing him to pieces. He's never been angry. Or violent. But now there is nothing more he'd like to do than kill. What could he possibly lose? He's lost everything already.

_No._

He clenches his other fist at his rationality. Fuck rationality. War is not rational. He doesn't _want_ to be rational. He doesn't want to be sensible. Cautious. Responsible. He doesn't want to be _himself_. He wants to kill. He wants to die. He wants heaven or hell…whichever will take him. He wants this to end. Because even hell can't be worse than this.

But it won't. Because for as long as he lives, he's going to be fighting a war. Although, whether it's with himself or the ones who betrayed them, he just doesn't know.

* * *

There's a bottle of firewhiskey on the table. Untouched. He wonders how long it will take him to give in. To feel the familiar, dizzying burn that masks the pain of this grief. After all this time, he's expecting to be immune to this kind of pain. Still, it sends tremors down his spine – a feeling just as painful as the one nearly fifteen years ago. He looks longingly at the ancient set of silver knives on the kitchen bench. Freedom calls.

_No_.

Merlin, he _hates_ that fucking voice. He hates it even more because it's right. He can't. He can't be that selfish. He's got a life, and as much as he wants to, he's not going to run away again. He's not going to follow Sirius….because Harry needs him. And he's Remus. He's the goddamn responsible one. He understands that, and he understands that's why he's sitting at this table looking at the firewhiskey. The thought just makes him angrier, and he slams his fist down on the table.

And not for the first time in his life, he decides to be irrational. He decides to be a Marauder. To throw caution out the window.

Taking a swig of firewhiskey, he ignores the burn and carries himself over to the beautiful knife set. With luck they might even have some sort of dark hex on them and make the whole process all the more painful. He's going to do it. He's never been surer in his life. He's never going to feel this empty again. And if he thinks back to all Dumbledore ever said to him, he _just _might not end up in hell.

The knife gleams. He can visualise the reunion. They'll all be together again. All _three_ of them. Because even if Wormtail does die, he'll be in the tenth circle of hell anyway. He can feel the freedom already. It's bubbling up through his veins, blocking whatever shame he feels for giving in.

_Marauders don't kill themselves. _

His fist balls.

_Are you that much of a coward Remus?_

Coward.

The word rings in his mind. He can hear Sirius and James teasing him. He can almost see Snape sneering. He can see Lily's face as she unleashes her wrath on them all.

And then he sees Harry. He can see the disappointment. Shame. The abandonment – the last family leaving him. He can see the boy getting married and wishing Remus sat in the front row. He can see himself never being able to see Harry's little green-eyed children. He can see it all. He can see the one thing he couldn't see fifteen years ago.

He can see a reason to live.

* * *

A/N: Please review. This is my first attempt at Remus. Feedback would be lovely.

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